


where the sea ought to take us

by primaveris



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Historical, Historical Hetalia, Historical References, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, i hope i'm not forgetting anything, just so I don't falsely lead you on, most if not all of the characters tagged outside of Portugal are just briefly mentioned, so yay, the moorish era is often mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:34:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23072542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primaveris/pseuds/primaveris
Summary: Fifty word prompts, one sentence each. Fifty glimpses into Portugal's history.
Relationships: England/Portugal (Hetalia)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	where the sea ought to take us

**Author's Note:**

> Writer's block sucks; this was a fun exercise. 
> 
> I got the word prompts from Livejournal's 1sentenceorder community.
> 
> Please heed the warnings, as this is all very angsty and sometimes deals with sensitive topics, being historical and all. There's nothing graphic at all though.
> 
> And as it is already stated in the tags, this is mostly Portugal-centric and the other tagged characters make short appearances.

_#01 – Ring_

The first time he’d had a ring put around his finger, in a gentle and mellow day of spring he'll never forget, back when he felt he had to prove himself to a world he didn’t yet know, he believed to be, for the first time in centuries, truly and unquestionably free. The second time it happened, in such a reminiscent day, in his own house, it was as if that same world, ( _which now he knew better than anyone_ ) had been stolen away from him.

_#02 – Hero_

He’d promised to himself, long before he became conscious of it, that he’d protect his little brother, even if the world were to turn against them.

_#03 – Memory_

There had been a woman, once, before Carthage and Rome and any other conqueror that had stepped foot onto his lands, and so he couldn’t remember anything about her beyond her voice.

_#04 – Box_

Trapped; between sea and mountain, Portugal realised that his brother and him were trapped in that little piece of land they called home.

_#05 – Run_

He remembered when he used to run wild and free on bright green meadows, his homeland; the dark-skinned man, who was kind but who Lusitania (that wasn't his name anymore, was it?) didn’t trust, didn’t forbid him to do so now, but those lands didn’t feel _his_ anymore.

_#06 – Hurricane_

Portugal cast his eyes to the sky and prayed a storm would sweep the ships of soldiers and slavers away from his shores, if God still were with him.

_#07 – Wings_

He didn’t understand why man dreamt of flying, when a good caravel could take him anywhere he wanted; ironically enough, it had been _wings_ that had taken Icarus’ freedom away.

_#08 – Cold_

Portugal noticed that England always managed to end up in cold, rainy, miserable lands, and so concluded that his husband and his brother indeed were meant to stay as apart from one another as possible.

_#09 – Red_

Nations tried to instill fear by painting their banners blood red; yet, whether it was Kongo or Ayutthaya or his own brother, Portugal knew there was more to an empire than what met the eye.

_#10 – Drink_

They were both drunk and giggling as if they still lived in the good old crusader times, and with England in his arms swirling a glass of port wine, Portugal could only smile and think, _yes, this is home._

_#11 – Midnight_

There were moments, rare ones, when Spain became quiet and pensive, and in those days, those warm _nights_ , Portugal would find him in the Cathedral of Córdoba, under the crescent moon.

_#12 – Temptation_

Temptations aren’t all that different from man to nation, for both have ultimately the only wish to survive and to _take_ , and so when Japan slides his delicate, pale hand on his thigh and _glares_ at him with fiery, dark eyes, Portugal gives in.

_#13 – View_

The first time he’d laid his eyes on Vera Cruz, not the landmass, but the nation, he’d taken long to understand how, _why_ the boy was here when Tupi already inhabited those lands.

_#14 – Music_

Portugal knew from experience that one of the few things nations wouldn’t hate nor fear each other for was music, so whenever he could, he’d play a few chords and hope for a curious smile.

_#15 – Silk_

It was silk that drove nations crazy in these seas and ages, and Portugal, though happy to make business, wondered if he really was such a barbarian that he could not see its value past its prettiness.

_#16 – Cover_

When Spain had come back home with fury and fire in his eyes telling him the dutch boy had sunken his own city underwater during the siege, Portugal had to laugh and finally understand that the United Provinces and him weren’t all that different from one another.

_#17 – Promise_

Portugal had made far too many promises to too many nations he’s met along the way; and in a way, secretly, he was happy that they all ended up disappearing sooner or later, as he knew he’d never be able to make good on such empty vows.

_#18 – Dream_

Once, Portugal had a dream where Umayyad had come to him, and so they talked ( _in which language?_ ) about what had– about _everything_ that had happened after he had left them, and despite how real it all felt, he was too afraid to tell Spain he still had thoughts of the old moor.

_#19 – Candle_

He’d map out the world under the candlelight, and there were certain fragile moments where he wished the candle would fall and set all those charts aflame.

_#20 – Talent_

Although Portugal didn’t ultimately have the ruthless skills for trade and sciences as the other Europeans, he’d always take pride in being able to work with numbers well enough to always find the way back home.

_#21 – Silence_

As the earth shook and his city fell it was far too loud to make sense out of what was happening, but when they turned back to the sea and saw the wave coming to them, they all fell silent, and it’s that silence that still rings in his ears.

_#22 – Journey_

It’s only natural for nations to go on their own journey, as there really isn’t much else for their kind to do; Rome and Umayyad had both rummaged around the old world until they saw there was nothing beyond Iberia, and that had been their demise.

_#23 - Fire_

The strange blond, blue-eyed men had come in ships and plundered his lands and set his homes and fields ablaze, and as the fire warmed his tear-streaked cheeks, he wondered if any nation who were to come from the sea simply wished to invade and conquer and _destroy_.

_#24 – Strength_

Turkey had given him the rare opportunity to talk to little Greece in private, and when the boy had cried under the moonlight facing his mother’s sea and mumbled that a small nation like him could never become free, Portugal had called him an idiot and told him that _small nations could be strong, too._

_#25 – Mask_

Even when they fought on high seas the Ottoman Empire didn’t dare remove that damned mask of his, and he must have known Portugal considered it an insult to his pride that only managed to make him act more rashly.

_#26 – Ice_

When the Netherlands was nothing but a boy, a vassal state, a _colony_ , his eyes had been as blue as the sky in springtime; now, on the strait of Jakarta, as they fought as rivals, enemies, Portugal could clearly see his eyes were as blue as ice.

_#27 – Fall_

When the news of the fall of Constantinople had reached his home, Portugal knew Byzantium would never visit him and his brother on their shores again, and really, what was new?

_# 28 – Forgotten_

It was a fear of his, deep down, to fall into irrelevancy, to have no legacy, to be forgotten; and maybe that’s how he found justification in the things he did.

_#29 – Dance_

England knew Portugal was too ashamed to dance in a ballroom under the judging gaze of the other European powers, and so they’d dance just for each other, barefoot, on the sands, the way they’ve known since they were children.

_#30 – Body_

There were many blows a nation could, _would_ take, and when Portugal saw his cuts and burns and bruises heal so fast he couldn’t keep track, he chuckled weakly at how useless it all was.

_#31 – Sacred_

It had been Rome the one to raise the temple first, then Visigoth had come and built his own sanctuary over it and called it a church, and Umayyad laid his eyes on it and turned into a great mosque, and when Spain had finally taken it back after almost eight hundred years he’d made it a grander cathedral, and Portugal knew the ground on which it all stood couldn’t be more sacred.

_#32 – Farewells_

So many had invaded their lands, conquered, ruled, and fallen apart, that Portugal and Spain felt no need for farewells anymore.

_#33 – World_

Back when Portugal still wasn’t Portugal, nor Lusitania, he’d thrown himself into the sea and giggled at the cold water that embraced him; Iberia had pulled him back and whispered that his shores were where the world ended, and he hadn’t believed her, because it had been the sea that had called out to him.

_#34 – Formal_

He had never been one for formalities, but if England had already made the sacrifice of making himself be seen with him and just asked of him to dress decently for once and keep his mouth shut when with other Europeans, who was Portugal to refuse?

_#35 – Fever_

He’d been burning up for six days now, as long as the fires, and in delirious moments he prayed to become human _so it would finally stop._

_#36 – Laugh_

They’ve been saying many terrible things about Spain, including that his laugh was mocking and cold and cruel, but Portugal knew they lied, because when his little brother laughed he radiated sun and warmth and _home_.

_#37 – Lies_

England would whisper all the pretty things Portugal wanted to hear in his ear, and like a fool, he would smile and embrace and kiss him and just be grateful England tolerated him at all.

_#38 – Forever_

And no matter what they said, their so-called winds of change would not touch his lands; for family is forever.

_#39 – Overwhelmed_

They were just confused, his provinces’ peoples– _his_ people were confused, they didn’t know what they wanted, _if only the headache would just go away–_

_#40 – Whisper_

The rare occasions he saw Spain these days the boy always wore downcast eyes and a pale, sickly face, and on the rarer times he talked, he’d lean on Portugal’s shoulder and speak in a whisper, as if he were afraid of being heard.

_#41 – Wait_

He tried to struggle out of Galicia’s grasp, to go to battle and kick those moors out of his homeland and rescue his brother, but she had just embraced him tighter and said in a tight voice that it did no good to be so reckless and violent, that he had to wait, as he's done for far too many years now.

_#42 – Talk_

He’d always found it funny how his kind could understand one another just fine, while humans always thrived to meet new people they could barely communicate with, and would then almost ignite a conflict over innocent misunderstandings.

_#43 – Search_

They were both convinced they sailed out searching for a way to India, but deep down Portugal knew his heart was looking for something he’d never find, no matter how far his caravel took him.

_#44 – Hope_

Despite centuries of fighting and oppression, his own people were still sure God hadn’t abandoned them and that they would have their land back, and it was only that hope that made him keep going.

_# 45 – Eclipse_

The sun never set on the Spanish empire, but when the moon devoured the sun and took its light away, Portugal didn’t dare dwell too much on what it meant.

_#46 – Gravity_

Sometimes Spain would get too cocky, too proud, too delusional, and in those times only Portugal could hold him close and remind him of what had happened to Rome and Umayyad after they had become too great.

_#47 – Highway_

He’d been the one to carve out all those routes on the maps by the sacrifice and courage of his own people, and yet he couldn’t hate the dutch boy for stealing all that away from him; in a way, he was fighting his own _reconquista._

_#48 – Unknown_

The sea at night always frightened him, always had, as he could only see pitch black darkness beyond the waves that hit the shores in the moonlight; but if he wanted to survive, he’d have to pray – and throw himself into the unknown.

_#49 – Lock_

Spain and England both wanted to keep Portugal in a golden cage, and no matter how different from each other they claimed to be, both had the same methods to keep Portugal where they wanted.

_#50 – Breathe_

On land, he'd write verses on all the freedoms and cruelties the savage sea could offer, and when he’d been thrown into it and still be able to breathe, he wondered if death really was the cruellest thing the sea had out to give.

**Author's Note:**

> comments/feedback make me the happiest kid on the block╰(*´︶`*)╯♡


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